And You Are
by LinkehCrescent
Summary: Sweeney gets a bonk on the head, leaving him with amnesia. What will our dear Mrs. Lovett do? Sweenett.


"Toby, mix this batter up for me." Mrs. Lovett passed the bowl into the waiting boy's hands. He took the wooden spoon and began to mix the ingredients like the pie-maker had taught him to do over a month ago.

"That's a good boy," she complimented him, her own hands clasped tightly around a rolling pin. "Remember the consistency it's supposed to be."

"Yes, mum," replied the boy, concentrating on the task she had set him to.

There was a loud knocking noise, and bits of plaster fell from the ceiling and onto the counter around the woman. She looked worriedly up at the ceiling.

"I'll be right back, love," she called to Toby over her shoulder. She ran up the steps, her heartbeat increasing as her head imagined what could've happened to the man upstairs.

By the time she reached the door she was nearing panic mode. When she saw the barber in the floor, she screamed.

"MR. T!"

She ran over to him, sliding to the ground and shaking him furiously.

"Hm?" replied the man groggily, opening his eyes. One of his razors laid splayed open near him, and a piece of wooden rafter was beside him. She looked up at the ceiling to see where the splintered piece should've been.

"That'll have to be fixed," mused the woman, still holding on to Todd's arm. "Are you okay?"

Sweeney studied her, clearly finding her interesting. "Who are you?"

She blinked. "Who am I? What do you mean, love?"

"I don't know who you are," repeated the barber, looking around. "Where am I? Who am I?"

Mrs. Lovett was silent for a moment, not knowing what was going on. She looked at the broken piece of rafter again.

"Did that hit you on the head?" she asked, fear bubbling in her throat as what had happened dawned on her.

"Yes, I think it did," replied the man, grinning uncharacteristically at her.

"You've lost your bloody marbles; I mean, your memory!"

"Lost my memory? So you know who I am?" The hopeful look he gave her made her forget what was going on.

"Oh... um.... yes, dear, of course," said Mrs. Lovett, suddenly seeing an opportunity. "You're my husband, Sweeney Todd, and you're the best barber in London. Right now, we're in your shop, which is above my meat pie emporium."

"The best barber in London?" He reached for the blade, studying it in the light. "Silver?"

"Yes."

"Your husband? Who did you say you were again? I'm sorry, love, but I just can't remember." He clicked the razor closed and let his eyes drift down her. "I do remember having a wife though."

"Margery. Margery Lovett." She kept still as her mind realized that he remembered Lucy. But he didn't know it was Lucy he was thinking of; he thought he was thinking of her.

"Lovett?" he questioned, his eyes clouding over with confusion again. "Didn't you say my name was Todd?"

"Yes, yes, Sweeney Todd," Mrs. Lovett told him quickly, trying to regain the upper hand. "I didn't change my name when we married so I wouldn't have to repaint the front of the shop."

"Makes sense." Todd stood up, offering her his hand, which she took. He held her hand for a moment, and the loving look he gave her almost broke her heart.

If he hadn't lost his memory, he wouldn't have ever looked at her like that. She knew he would hate her for tricking him when he remembered again, which would probably be very soon, but she decided to enjoy the thought of being married to him while it lasted.

"I better get back down to the shop, darling," she told him, letting his hand slip from her grasp and fall back to his side. She turned and took a few steps, but stopped as he called her name.

"Margery!"

"Yes?" She was surprised to hear him call her by her first name, and when she turned to face him, she found out that he was much nearer then she expected. He drew her close to him and kissed her gently, parting her unsuspecting lips with the tip of his tongue. Her heart melted with pleasure that didn't disappear as he pulled away. "I love you."

The feeling erupted into waves and waves of guilt. She knew that he remembered loving another strongly, but that woman wasn't her.

"I love you, too," she replied truthfully, part of her still savoring the words that he had spoken, the other part wishing she had never lied to him. The farther this went, the angrier he would be at her when the memories flooded back to him. He let her go, and she walked forlornly back to her shop.

"Was Mr. Todd alright, mum?" asked Toby as soon as she had crossed the threshold.

"Oh, yes, he's fine, dear," she stammered out quickly, her mind moving back to the things at hand. She flitted around the corner to the counter and noticed the bowl she had given Toby sitting there, waiting for her approval. She ran her hands through it judgingly. "Perfect. You're such a good boy. Why don't you run out and play for a while? Just remember to be back in time for the dinner rush."

The young boy nodded enthusiastically at the dismissal and skipped happily out the door. The pie-maker laughed quietly at her young helper, motherly affection for him tugging at her heart. She sat about rolling the dough he had mixed. She had been at work for quiet some time, rolling the dough, filling the crust, placing the top over it, and crimping the edges. Suddenly, she felt arms wrap around her waist and warm lips pressing gently against her neck. The rolling pin stopped its rhythmic motions as she let go of it.

"Mr. Todd?" she whispered, her body tensing at the unusual signs of affection.

"Yes, love?" The voice was close to her ear and filled with an emotion she had never heard from him before.

"What are you doing?"

He chuckled at her question. "Isn't this what I normally do?"

"Yes, of course," she stuttered, trying to force her heart out of her throat and to its proper place in her chest. He pulled her around to face him and kissed her again. The tension melted from her body as she wrapped her arms around his neck, greedily sucking in every moment, as she knew it wouldn't last long. He pulled away from her after a few moments, needing air.

"If that's the way you normally react to me, then I can see why I married you." He smiled and brushed a lock of curly hair from her face. She giggled, trying to control herself and not feeling too guilty about what she was doing. His arms around her, they felt right.

"Can't you see I'm trying to make pies?" she whispered to him, resting her cheek against his chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, love," the man whispered back to her, really not sorry at all.

"We can come back to this later, can't we?"

"Yes, whatever you want to do." The reply was so simple, so innocent, that she thought she was going to start crying at the irony of it all. He let her go so she could get back to work. "But I can't stay up there alone. I don't know what I'm doing."

"You can sit in the parlor if you like," suggested the pie-maker, now back to rolling out the top crust of the final pie. "I've got to take these trays down to the cellar in a moment so they'll be ready for the dinner rush."

She motioned to the six trays behind her, all but one bearing twelve unbaked pies. She filled the final pie, slapped the crust down on top of it, and quickly crimped its edges. She placed it gently in its spot on the tray that until then had only eleven. "There, all done."

The woman took one of the trays, and Sweeney took two. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"If you drop those, I will personally kill you."

He laughed, and together they went down into her cellar. She popped the three trays into the big bake oven and checked to make sure it was set at the proper temperature. She ushered the man upstairs before he could look around and see the piles of clothing and human bones that were lying piled in corners.

"Only takes three dozen at a time, so we minds well go up and see if we can get the other half into the ovens upstairs."

Somehow they managed to cram the waiting pies into the smaller ovens. The room grew warm as the ovens did their jobs and let out heat.

"How long do they take to bake?" questioned the barber, sincerely interested in finding out the answer.

Mrs. Lovett looked up from where she was attempting to clean the counter. "About two hours. Why do you ask?"

"That should be enough time for what I want..."

"And what exactly do you want, Mr. Todd?" She got the general idea as his arms snaked around her waist again, and she dropped the rag she had been using. It silently fell to the floor by their feet.

"Why, Mrs. Lovett, I want you. I want my wife."

Guilt attempted to crush the excitement she was feeling, but in vain. If he believed that she was his wife, she would gladly let him believe that. It was easy for her to imagine that the barber hadn't lost his memory, and that he was kissing her because he really truly loved her and nothing else.

She pulled away from him, smiling playfully.

"I'll give you what you want," she told him, stroking his face. "Any time you want it, love."

He smiled back at her and kissed her forehead gently. "Lead the way."

She led him to her bedroom, and upon arriving, he immediately pulled her down into the bed. She felt his hands quickly moving down the buttons on the back of her dress, and she pressed her lips eagerly to his. He was slightly surprised by the passion in her movements.

Her fingers slipped down the buttons on the front of his vest and shirt, and she pulled them off. He slid the dress over her head, and she felt his fingers working viciously at the knot holding her corset on.

She broke away from his kiss for a moment, giggling and feeling very naughty indeed. He laughed at her and slipped her corset off as she undid his belt, making sure to take the razor that was always there out and laying it on the nightstand.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked her, stopping for a moment.

"You'll thank me later," she answered him, smiling. He shrugged and took off his pants, while she slipped out of her panties. He held her tight to him, and she closed her eyes.

"Hopefully the pies won't burn," he whispered teasingly to her. She laughed melodically until he silenced it with another kiss.

The pies didn't burn. They were done before they were given the chance, and Mrs. Lovett was again in her dress in her kitchen, sitting the last tray on the counter. She studied the cooling pies expertly, proudly proclaiming to Sweeney, who was standing close beside her, that they were done.

She was still burning from earlier, and him standing so close to her didn't help her boiling insides to cool down. Toby pushed his way through the door, and gave the two a skeptical look.

"Is that our son?" The question was said lightly into her ear, to where only she could here it.

"Goodness, no!" replied the pie-maker in the same soft voice. "That's Toby. I got 'im from the workhouse."

"Ah."

"We don't have any children."

"That's surprising."

She giggled loudly, and Toby looked up at her. She smiled at him.

"Better throw on your apron, love, and get out there. Pull 'em in like a good boy, would you?"

"Yes, a▓ course, mum," replied the boy, glad his adoptive mother was happy. He quickly tied the white apron around his waist and opened the door, kicking a woodblock beside it to keep it open.

"Ladies an' gen'lemen!" he cried out. "C'mon get yer pies! The best pies you'll ever taste. Savory an' sweet pies, they are. Mrs. Lovett's Fantastical Pie Emporium is open for yer supper!"

Mrs. Lovett turned to the man beside her.

"You better go in the parlor, love. You normally aren't out here when the customers come in."

He wanted to ask why, but people had started to pour in, so he just did as he was told. He watched her flick around the room, placing pies and mugs of ale in the hands of her waiting customers. They smiled and thanked her. He watched as she flitted in and out of the room so she could wait on both the inside and the outside dining area. He heard her sing song voice call for the boy several times throughout the evening, and she was always answered promptly.

It seemed to be a long time before the shop was empty, and Toby was handing over the last of the tips to Mrs. Lovett. She slipped him some shillings, which he pocketed, and rumpled his hair.

"Why don' you go on to bed now, love?" suggested Mrs. Lovett to the boy. Sweeney caught her glance and quickly got off of the couch and made his way back to her bedroom.

"Ah, I love that boy like 'e was me own," she commented to the barber, closing the door behind her. She wiped her hands off on her dress, and let her eyes slip to the man, who was already stripping out of his clothing. She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he smiled at her.

"Anytime, right, love?" he asked her playfully.

"Yes, I do believe that's what I said," she replied, heat flushing her face. She slipped out of her own clothing and joined him in the bed. She snuggled against him, sighing.

She didn't want it to be night. She didn't want this perfect day to end. She knew that his amnesia couldn't last much longer. She knew she could be dead the next day from his anger. If this was to be her last night, this was the way she would want to spend it.

The woman turned around to face the man beside her, her breath warm on his face. He caught the glint in her eye, and laughed lightly at her, a smile spreading over both their faces.

It had to be past midnight. Mrs. Lovett was curled next to Sweeney, who was breathing deeply. She bet that he hadn't slept so well in years. She knew that she should get out of the bed and go sleep in the guest room where the barber normally slept. Maybe if she did that, he wouldn't conclude that anything had happened, wouldn't ask questions. But she couldn't make herself get up. She deserved whatever he did to her when his memories returned. At least she had gotten to be with him...

She was awake for several more hours, until she finally drifted off to a rough sleep.

"...My, my, Mrs. Lovett. How in the world did you manage this?"

The voice was familiar. It had the same, uncaring emotionless tone about it. It was normal. It was real. It meant that Todd had regained his memories. Mrs. Lovett shook uncontrollably, rolling over to face him. His dark, bitter eyes met hers, and she could feel the tears welling up in the corners of her own.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, putting more space between the two of them. He raised one eyebrow at her.

"What'd you do? Did you hit me over the head with your rolling pin? I remember standing in my shop, then a cracking sound, and now, here I am, in bed with you." He didn't sound angry... but you could never tell with him.

"No," stammered Mrs. Lovett, trying to hold the tears back as she explained what happened. "A part of the ceiling rafter fell... and it hit you on the head. I went up there... and you asked me who you were.... and I told you... I told you you were my husband."

"...How many times did we..." There was a hint of anger in his voice now.

"Twice," she answered, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could escape from all of this. "You wanted it."

She opened her eyes again as he chuckled slightly.

"My pet, you're incredibly wicked."

"This coming from a man who slits the throats of others?" A smile played across her face.

"This coming from the woman who happily bakes them into pies?" he retorted, his tone once again not giving away any of his emotions.

"Hm, I do see your point."

They laid there for a moment, until he pulled her closer to him. Her heart pounded in surprise as she felt his warm breath on her ear.

"I wish I could remember it. I like you better when you▓re evil." 


End file.
